


blue icicles and glass-colored silver

by lotts (LottieAnna)



Series: tear the word [3]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Character Study, M/M, Poorly Defined Relationships, Trope Subversion/Inversion, infidelity? kinda?, not quite (see: poorly-defined relationship) but enough that i want to put something in the tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-04-28 02:00:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14439069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LottieAnna/pseuds/lotts
Summary: Mitch’s eyes are kind of overwhelming, in a way Taylor can’t quite describe.(It might have something to do with how blue they are, how they almost pierce him with some glazed-over kindness that hides something sharp beneath the surface.It might also just be because they belong to Mitchell Stephens.)





	blue icicles and glass-colored silver

**Author's Note:**

> IF YOU FOUND THIS THROUGH GOOGLING, KNOW ANYONE MENTIONED IN THIS STORY PERSONALLY, OR ARE MENTIONED YOURSELF: please, please click away. This is a work of fiction and nothing written in this story is true. Any accurate information used in this story is publicly available information about public figures, the rest is made up, 100%.
> 
> i started this about 80 years ago. set in the same 'verse as "all that" and "but it's in my way." thanks to ash and rachel and deja, and also ali who read this fic way back in the summer. there's a special kind of satisfaction that comes with picking up a fic you almost abandoned ig? anyway, here's the taylor raddysh soulmate angst that no one asked for!

**November, 2015**

“So, wait, you’re scared of Stephens?” Dylan asks, squinting at Taylor as he passes him the joint.

“Not, like,  _ scared  _ scared,” Taylor says.  

“I thought you two were buds,” Dylan says. 

Taylor shrugs. “We don’t know each other that well.” 

“But you’re scared of him?” 

“I said that he’s kind of scary,” Taylor says. “Intimidating, is a better word.” 

Dylan looks at him like he’s crazy. “You’re intimidated by Mitchell Stephens.” 

“That’s not what I meant. I just— he’s got this, like, vibe to him.” 

“He has a nice guy vibe,” Dylan says. “He’s the kind of dude that, like, parents love, y’know? Polite as shit.” 

“I know that,” Taylor says, and frowns, because of course Dylan doesn’t get it. Dylan’s really good at reading people in the sense that he can pick out people like him, but Mitchell Stephens is, like, the anti-Dylan, at least to people who don’t know him that well. “He’s just… too nice, I guess.” 

Dylan shrugs. “Guess so,” he says, clearly losing interest in the conversation, so Taylor just sighs and takes a hit. 

* * *

**2016 NHL Entry Draft**

_ Hey, asked Dylan for your number, hope that’s okay. Congrats on being drafted :),  _ the text reads, and Taylor blinks at his phone. 

_ I’m sorry, who is this?  _ he types back. 

_ Oh, it’s Mitch Stephens! From Saginaw,  _ the response reads, and Taylor hasn’t even had time to process it when Mitchell calls. 

“Hello?” Taylor asks, and he’s briefly embarrassed about how hard he’s blushing, but then he remembers that Mitch can’t actually see his face. 

“Taylor, hey,” Mitch says, his voice easy. Of course it is; this is Mitch Stephens. “Just figured I’d reach out to you, second rounder to second rounder.” 

“Yeah, thanks,” Taylor says. “Calling all of us, eh?” 

“Just you,” Mitch says. “Your number was easiest to get ahold of.” 

“Ha, yeah,” Taylor says, because honestly, what the  _ fuck _ is he supposed to say to that. 

“Well, I should let you get back to your family, but I guess I’ll see you at dev camp,” Mitch says. 

“Sure thing,” Taylor says, and Mitch does a small laugh that may or may not be fake. 

“Alright, take care,” Mitch says. 

“Bye,” Taylor says, and Mitch hangs up. 

He replays the conversation in his head about a hundred times, and wonders if he came across as too flustered, except he thinks he was justified in being flustered. 

He thinks Mitch knew it would mess with him, a little bit, and Taylor should probably be a little angrier about it, except he kind of likes how flustered he can get around Mitch. 

* * *

**CIBC Canada-Russia Series, 2016**

Mitchell Stephens has been staring pretty openly at Taylor for the entire evening. 

Taylor’s met his eyes a few times, and every time he’s looked away quickly, because Mitch’s eyes are kind of overwhelming, in a way Taylor can’t quite describe. 

(It might have something to do with how blue they are, how they almost pierce him with some glazed-over kindness that hides something sharp beneath the surface.

It might also just be because they belong to Mitchell Stephens.) 

“Hey,” Mitch’s voice says, because Mitch is right next to him now, apparently. “You played well today.” 

Taylor knows he played well. Taylor had two goals and an assist, and had been named first star of the game. Taylor had been the headline for the game recap. 

“It was alright,” he manages, and yeah, there’s that Mitchell Stephens-induced blush that Taylor had been anticipating.

“Alright, sure,” Mitch says, his grin teasing. “C’mon, you were fucking beautiful out there.” 

_ Beautiful,  _ is the word Taylor’s mind zones in on. It plays in his head on a loop, the way it sounded in Mitch’s voice, the way Mitch’s mouth had looked as he said it. 

Mitch notices, and smiles this easy, satisfied smile, but there’s an edge to it, and suddenly, everything about him is a bit sharper, and Taylor is caught up in all of it. 

“Thanks,” Taylor says, unashamed of how gentle his voice sounds. 

Mitch’s grin widens, and Taylor thinks that he was right to be afraid of Mitchell Stephens. 

 

They go up to Mitchell’s room, with Mitchell leading the way, of course, taking the lead on the whole thing until the door closes behind them. 

Taylor doesn’t hook up that much. He does some, but not a lot, and never with other players, because it’s a bad idea. Or, maybe the whole Dyls-and-Davo thing makes it seem like a worse idea than it is. Or maybe the whole Dyls-and-Marns thing makes it seem like a worse idea. Or maybe, the Dyls-and-Marns thing and the Dyls-and-Davo thing are kind of the same thing, and they’re both kind of messy, because hockey is not the place for this kind of shit. 

Except— 

Except Mitch is looking at him, his arms crossed, expectant, this dumb, teasing grin on his face, like he’s daring Taylor to make the first move, which is ridiculous, because Mitch has made a thousand moves leading up to this. 

Taylor hadn’t even realized it, even though he kind of had, but Mitch has been planning this, Mitch has probably wanted this since who knows when. Mitch, who is omnipresent but always secondary, who seems to be at every fucking tournament Hockey Canada has, but who was drafted in the second round, who is remarkable in all the ways he should be, talented enough to catch everyone’s attention, but not quite enough to catch anyone’s. 

No one has ever been surprised by Mitchell Stephens, Taylor realizes. 

Or, well.

No one besides Taylor, anyway. 

So, Taylor returns the favor and surprises him right back, grabbing him by the collar and pulling him in. He feels something flash behind his eyes, something that he can’t control or understand, and then he leans in and kisses Mitch harder than he’s ever kissed anyone. Taylor doesn’t like being caught off-guard. 

This time, it’s Mitch who is frozen for just a second, Mitch who makes a noise of quiet surprise, and Mitch who eventually adjusts to the feeling of Taylor’s lips, because Taylor has never been passive in his life, and he doesn’t intend to start now. 

When Mitch catches on, though, he smiles against Taylor’s lips, and Taylor can’t see, because of the whole kissing thing, but he’s pretty sure it’s that same smug grin from before, which only makes Taylor kiss him harder. 

Mitch seems to welcome it.

* * *

**Erie, PA, December 2016**

“At least this year Mitch won’t be there,” Dylan says. 

For a second, Taylor is confused. Mitch was definitely named to the camp roster, so unless there’s some new injury Taylor hadn’t heard of– which would be ridiculous, because if Mitch was injured, Taylor would know– but then he realizes that Dylan’s talking about Marns. 

“Oh, yeah,” Taylor says. “For the best though, right?” 

Dylan just shrugs. “Last year was messy.” 

This year could also, potentially, be really, really messy, because Dylan and Connor are Definitely Not Over, and Mikey and Nate have been weird, even by Mikey-and-Nate standards, and Taylor and Mitch hooked up a few weeks ago and Taylor’s been ignoring the one text that Mitch has sent him since, except Dylan definitely doesn’t know about that last part. 

“It’ll be fine,” Taylor says. 

“It’ll be good,” Dylan corrects. “Great. I mean, it’s gotta be, right?” 

Dylan’s mostly fine about getting sent down, but according to Brinksy, shit like this happens sometimes, where Dylan gets weird and sad about it, plus all the World Juniors crap, considering the fact that he’s definitely gonna be some sort of leadership this year. 

There are five returners on the roster, and Dylan is one of them. Mitch is also one of them. 

Taylor is excited to be named. Most of it is relief, if he’s being honest. 

“It’ll be great,” Taylor confirms. 

“I bet you make it,” Dylan says. “Like, you’ve gotta.” 

Taylor just shrugs; he and Dylan are two very different players, in the eyes of Hockey Canada. Still, he’s— well, he’s not as bitter about Dylan getting sent back as Dylan is, but he’s not  _ not  _ bitter. It’s normal, honestly, but Taylor’s been having a really fucking good season, so it’s nice that Dylan recognizes that, at least. 

“We’ll see what happens,” Taylor says. He didn’t get an invite to summer camp, so Canada-Russia and generally being good are his only real credentials. Mostly he tries not to be, like, insulted when people are surprised at how well he’s playing; he might be good, but he’s not Connor-McDavid-good, and he might be Dylan-Strome-good, but he is not Dylan Strome, and that makes a difference. 

“I bet you make it, and I bet Mikey does too,” Dylan says. 

Michael McLeod doesn’t have nearly as much to prove as Dylan does; Taylor doesn’t think anyone can hold a candle to that. Mikey doesn’t even have as much to prove as Taylor, really. Taylor just barely made the second round— and, like, the second round is the second round, but Tampa had three picks in the second round, and Taylor was their last. 

“Any of the returners getting cut, do you think?” Taylor asks, just to fuck with Dylan. 

It works; Dylan looks at him with this wide-eyed terror that makes Taylor laugh. 

“Fuck, no,” Dylan says. “God, that’d suck for… well, all of us, really.” 

“Was it that bad?” Taylor asks, maybe a little insensitive; it’s hockey, and it’s Canada. Of course 6th place sucked. 

“I’d say it was worse than getting sent down the second time, for sure,” Dylan says. “Maybe not the first time, but the second.” 

“Oh,” Taylor says. He can’t really relate. 

“Yep,” Dylan says, popping the ‘p’ sound.

No one expects Taylor to be like Dylan, because they shouldn’t. The Raddyshes aren’t the Stromes. It’s a different world, really. Taylor doesn’t want to be dealing with what Dylan’s dealing with, honestly, because the praise that accompanies being pathologically undervalued is pretty fucking awesome. 

For some reason, he wants to text Mitch, so he does. 

Just a small  _ hey;  _ nothing fancy, no emoji crap, but, still. It’s a message. 

Ten minutes later, he gets a reply, and Taylor is willing to bet anything that Mitch got it right away. 

_ Mitch: hey! what’s up?  _

_ Taylor: nm, w/ dyl, wjc stuff  _

_ Mitch: cool :)  _

Apparently, Mitchell Stephens isn’t the kind of guy who uses emojis, sticks to the old-fashioned stuff when he’s not on Instagram. Taylor thinks emojis are kind of annoying, honestly—he doesn’t even like the automatic ones—so he counts this as a positive. 

_ Taylor: so, do u wanna  _

_ Taylor: at camp  _

_ Mitch: what do you mean?  _

_ Taylor: could b a good way 2 take our minds off things  _

_ Mitch: oh, gotcha  _

_ Mitch: yeah, last time was fun  _

Taylor doesn’t think “fun” is the word he’d use to describe it. When Taylor thinks of fun sex, he pictures a lot more giggling, and smiling, and just… letting go. Mitch was—and still is, really—this strange enigma of a person, and Taylor was aware of every reaction, every breath, every noise, every time his eyes fluttered shut, every time they blinked open to look at Taylor with that same intense gaze. He’d catalogued it all carefully, because at some point, Taylor had started collecting data on Mitchell Stephens. 

Which sounds creepier than Taylor thinks it actually is, but, whatever. 

“Who’re you texting?” Dylan asks. 

“Mitch,” Taylor says. 

Dylan’s eyes kind of bug out. “Wait, Mitch? Why?” 

“We’re friends?” Taylor says. “You gave him my number, remember?”

“I—” Dylan says. “Oh, you mean other Mitch. Stephens.” 

“No shit,” Taylor says. On Mitch’s behalf, he resents the fact that Dylan calls him the ‘other Mitch.’ 

* * *

**World Juniors, December 2016**

Over text, Taylor can handle Mitchell Stephens. 

In person, it’s a lot harder. 

Mitch is a flirt, and apparently has either no shame or a possessive streak a mile wide, because he keeps touching him. Gently, at first, and he makes eye contact with Taylor, like he’s confirming whether it’s okay to keep putting his hand on the small of Taylor’s back to guide him around, or leaning on Taylor’s shoulder when they’re talking to people. 

It would be maybe-obvious, except Dylan Strome is their unofficial leader and likely captain, and Dylan Strome is pretty much constantly cuddling one teammate or another, so people don’t really notice.

Well, Tony notices. Barz does too, which means Chabby notices, which means Jozy hears about it, because that’s just how Sea Dogs are. Mikey… might notice? But Mikey is incredibly easygoing about things that don’t involve Nathan Bastian, so if he notices, he’s probably not telling anyone about it.

Whatever, the important thing is that most guys don’t notice, especially Dylan. If Dylan knew, he would have things to say about it, because of the whole Dylan-and-Connor-and-Marner thing. 

But: it’s only a matter of hours before Mitch finds Taylor by the vending machine, deciding between Gatorade and Sprite, pushes him up against the wall, and kisses him. 

Taylor isn’t surprised by it, really. He’d asked, and Mitch had said yes, and they’re tired and scared. Scared for different reasons—Mitch played in this tournament last year, and Taylor wasn’t even invited to summer camp—but still, there’s a lot for them to live up to. 

It’s kind of a common thread. 

“You’re good at this,” Mitch whispers against Taylor’s mouth.

“You cost me a soda,” Taylor says. “The machine’s gonna eat my dollar.” 

Mitch laughs. “I’ll buy you a new one.” And then he actually takes a step back and pulls out his wallet, which Taylor hadn’t been expecting. 

“What a gentleman,” Taylor deadpans. 

“Just paying my debts,” Mitch says. “What did you want?” 

Taylor just shrugs. “You pick.” 

Mitch picks Gatorade, and then sort of nods, and Taylor follows him to his room. 

Taylor gives him the best blowjob he’s ever given, because he wants to start this tournament on a good note, and he might want to see if he can take Mitch Stephens apart, a little. But Mitch is composed throughout the whole fucking thing, with these perfect moans and his perfect hair and the perfect way he says Taylor’s name, low and intentional and  _ perfect. _

Afterwards, they get dressed, and Taylor doesn’t leave right away, but they don’t exactly bask in the afterglow either. It’s not really that Mitch is kicking him out, but he does ask Taylor if he should tell his roommate it’s cool to come back, and Taylor says yes, and leaves sometime before the actual return of said roommate. 

* * *

Raddyshes don’t get soulmates, according to Taylor’s mom.

McLeods, apparently, do, because Taylor notices Mikey’s wristguard the second he walks into the room. He tries to remember if Dylan had mentioned something about Mikey’s soulmark, or if Mikey had, but he can’t remember anything. 

The guard is gross and falling off, too, and it occurs to Taylor that maybe the increased levels of Bastian-related weirdness, on Mikey’s part, have something to do with the soulmate thing.

And that’s— 

That’s  _ weird. _

Like, there are guys his age with soulmates, Taylor knows this. But it’s rare, and more often than not, soulmate stuff is a punchline. They used to chirp Brinksy and his girl about soulmarks on Insta, until that time Brinksy got drunk and sad and confessed that he doesn’t know what he’d do if one of them got a name that wasn’t the other’s. They’re too young to think in terms of  _ forever,  _ except Mikey has a name, apparently, and he’s smiling at his phone like an idiot. 

“Who’re you talking to?” Taylor asks. 

“Just Nater,” Mikey says, except he says “Nater” like it’s the most beautiful sound in the world. Taylor kind of wants to chirp him, except chirping Mikey about Nate, and vice versa, is strictly off limits, according to Dylan, who had told Taylor that things were “fragile.” 

They certainly don’t seem fragile now. 

Taylor doesn’t think about Mitchell Stephens for the rest of the night. 

* * *

Mitch looks good the next day.

Like, really, really good. 

Mitchell Stephens has probably never looked anything less than great a day in his life, but right now, there’s something that’s working for Taylor, in particular. 

“Yo,” Dylan’s voice says, and Taylor realizes he’s been staring. 

“Hey, Stromer,” Taylor says. “What’s up?” 

“Are you—” Dylan nods in Mitch’s direction.  

Taylor blinks, surprised. “What?” 

“You know, are you trying to…” Dylan makes a hand gesture.

“Oh,” Taylor says. “Uh, I dunno.” 

“You don’t know,” Dylan repeats. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Taylor says, and he cringes internally, because that’s not sketchy at all. 

Dylan just raises an eyebrow at him. It’s one of the three expressions that Taylor is most used to seeing on his face.  

“Wasn’t gonna,” Dylan says. 

Taylor would maybe-worry, because he doesn’t think the him-and-Mitch thing is anything worth worrying about, but he is worried about Dylan getting worried. 

But. 

Mitch looks really, really good. 

So, Taylor keeps staring for a bit, and eventually, Mitch flashes him one of those smiles. Taylor nods at it, which he, personally, thinks is kind of weird, but apparently Mitchell doesn’t think so, because he just smiles wider at it. 

Which means that Mitch gets the message.  

 

They go to Taylor’s room, this time. Mikey doesn’t seem to care one way or another, because he’s Mikey. 

Taylor doesn’t really think at all as he tugs Mitch onto the bed and pulls him into a kiss. For the first time, he doesn’t try and read his smile, or figure out what the fuck Mitch is doing to him, just lets himself be a little undone by it, and that means that he’s sort of appreciating this in a way he hadn’t before. 

Like, Mitchell Stephens is pretty, but—and this is really dumb, considering this is the third time they’ve hooked up—Taylor  _ wants  _ him, a lot. Like, if he thinks about it, Mitchell Stephens is really his type. He’s got this presence, this quiet way of being exceptional, of being  _ elite. _ He’s sharp, all edge and nothing else, and it digs into Taylor. 

Mitch works hard. Mitch works really fucking hard, and Taylor knows this, because they all work hard, but Mitch is working hard for  _ this, _ right now. And Mitch is going to make his hard work pay off, it seems, because Taylor forgets what his face is doing, for a second, because Mitch drags a hand over the front of Taylor’s shorts. A noise threatens to escape Taylor’s lips, and Taylor lets it, and Mitch looks at Taylor with these wide eyes, and his face looks relaxed. 

It feels like a victory. 

 

Mitchell doesn’t leave the room right away, hangs around for a bit even after they’re both dressed. Mikey comes back and sees them, and they’re not exactly tangled up in each other on Taylor’s bed, but Taylor’s head is on Mitch’s stomach as the TV plays in the background. 

Mikey nods at the two of them in greeting, barely sparing them an appraising glance before jumping onto his bed and asking if they’re cool with him changing the channel. 

* * *

Mitch is talking to Jozy the next time Taylor sees him, and Taylor isn’t going to say anything until he sees Tony wander into the conversation, and then Mitch says something that makes Jozy laugh, which makes sense, because Mitch is funny and Jozy laughs easily.

He’s called over, then, and Mitch smirks at him, all put-together again, and Taylor forgets, for a second, what he looked like otherwise. 

Mitchell had tweeted out a picture, when the roster was released, of him, Dylan, Mikey, and Taylor. Mitch had worn the C for the Marlboros, and Dylan had worn an A. Mikey had played with them, but Taylor hadn’t, and he doesn’t even know how he ended up there, but Mitchell Stephens has a knack for finding old pictures, and Taylor is a little flattered that he chose one that included him. 

But the point is: Taylor and Mitch were Marlboros together, in some sense, and now they are on Team Canada together. Next year, or the year after, they could be on the Bolts together. Mitch has never been more than an arm’s reach from Taylor, really, except that Mitchell Stephens goes to BioSteel camp and jersey releases and, like, knows Tyler Seguin, kinda. 

Mitchell’s position on this team– this current one– has never been a question, and Taylor– well. Taylor didn’t get invited to summer camp. 

But it doesn’t matter, because they are teammates now. 

 

The next time they hook up, it’s barely even a question at this point, because Mitch will, apparently, always find new ways to get under Taylor’s skin, even if he doesn’t try. 

This was supposed to be simple; Taylor’s kind of glad it isn’t. 

* * *

Taylor thinks Dylan might be happier about him and Mikey making the roster than they are, except Taylor and Mikey are really fucking happy about it.  

It’s kind of amazing, the way Mikey is when he’s happy. It radiates out from him, sort of, like, it’s somehow easier to be happy when Mikey’s happy. It’s like— Dylan overflows with joy, but Mikey opens up with it, like it’s a simple thing. It’s never too much or too little, with him. Honestly, that might be one of the things Taylor likes most about hanging out with Mikey. Everything with him is simple, unless Nathan Bastian is involved. 

So, Taylor and Mikey hug, because why the fuck wouldn’t they, and then Mikey immediately texts Nater, which— alright, yeah, a little much.  Like, jeez, Mikey has parents and brothers who will want to congratulate him, but apparently getting in contact with Nathan Bastian is more urgent. 

Taylor goes over to Mitch’s room, even though it’s kinda late, because Mitch had texted him about congratulations sex, and Mitch’s roommate is, apparently, never around. Dylan’s on his way back to his room as Taylor knocks on Mitch’s door, and Taylor, unthinking, nods at him, right as Mitch opens the door. 

For a second, Taylor thinks Dylan’s going to freak out at them, except he just congratulates them both, and gives Taylor a hug, because he is Taylor’s captain, and a hugger. 

It’s sweet, except for how Taylor is not quite in the mood to hug Dylan Strome, so he’s mildly annoyed by the time Dylan wanders off, probably to stare at Connor McDavid’s contact info for the next two hours. It’s late, but Dylan sleeps like crap anyway, according to Brinksy. 

Mitch laughs when he sees Taylor’s very small frown. “You’re so nice to him,” he says. 

Taylor shrugs. “He’s… a lot,” he says. 

“Believe me, I know,” Mitch says. “God, last year was something.” 

“You should tell me about it, I bet you have some great stories,” Taylor says. 

Mitch hums, considering. “Maybe. In, like, half an hour?” 

“Only half an hour?” Taylor says dryly. “Such stamina.” 

“Fuck off, I’m tired,” Mitch says. 

“Yet you invited me,” Taylor says. 

“I can be both tired and horny,” Mitch says. “Come on.” 

Taylor rolls his eyes, except he’s smiling, and he hopes the fondness comes off as more exasperated than endeared. 

 

Mitch isn’t lying about being tired, because he falls asleep right after, which means Taylor has to choose whether to leave or stay. 

It feels rude to leave, though, so if Mitch gets weird in the morning, Taylor can use that as an excuse. 

 

It’s not weird in the morning at all, which is, like, kinda great. 

Mitch and Taylor wake up at about the same time, and Mitch’s roommate is still nowhere to be seen. 

“Oh, hey,” Mitch says, and he sounds mildly surprised, but, like, in a good way. “Didn’t realize you’d stuck around.” 

Taylor shrugs. “You fell asleep pretty fast, and I was wiped out.” 

“Fair enough,” Mitch says, and then he just— leans in and kisses Taylor. 

For a second, Taylor freaks out, because he thinks it’s gonna be this short, domestic thing, and he isn’t emotionally prepared for that shit, but— no, Mitch wants to, like, actually make out, and that’s when Taylor realizes this is going to turn into a morning sex thing. 

 

Dylan sees him walking out of Mitch’s room, too, and this time, he does a double take, probably because Taylor has a hickey and sex hair and is wearing the same sweats Dylan saw him in last. 

* * *

“What’s the deal with McLeod?” Mitch asks. They’re in Mitch’s room, lying on the bed, but, like, not about to hook up, probably? It’s weird, and they’ve never done the whole “chilling” thing before, but Taylor doesn’t mind it.

“Whaddya mean?” Taylor asks. 

“Like, him and Bastian,” Mitch says. “How much of a thing are they?” 

“I honestly couldn’t tell you,” Taylor says. “I thought they were official, but then he said Stromer doesn’t know.” 

Mitch cocks an eyebrow. “No way. Stromer has to know.” 

Taylor snorts. “Stromer’s a fucking idiot.” 

“But, like, that much of a fucking idiot?” Mitch says. “No way.”

“Oh yeah,” Taylor says. “I mean— for the McLeod stuff, I’d say that he probably knows that something’s up, but he doesn’t know that Mikey’s hiding something. But who knows, with them.” 

“What do you mean?” Mitch asks.

“They, like, grew up together,” Taylor says. “Mikey’s kind of like his kid brother.” 

“Oh,” Mitch says. “That’s kinda sweet.” 

“I guess,” Taylor says. 

There’s a beat, and then Mitch says, “Do you like playing with your brother?” 

“You mean, like, in Erie? Yeah,” Taylor says. 

“Just… yeah?” Mitch says, rolling onto his stomach, which brings him closer to Taylor. “No explanation?”

“Not really,” Taylor says. “He’s good, and we get along. I dunno.” 

“Alright, if I were a reporter and I asked you, what would you say?” 

“Literally that,” Taylor says. “What, is this an interview or something?” 

“No,” Mitch says. “I’m just trying to make conversation.”

“Since when do you make conversation?” Taylor asks, smirking. 

“I make plenty of conversation,” Mitch says, shoving him. “I’m not an asshole.”

“That’s what I’ve heard, but I don’t know if I’m convinced,” Taylor says. 

“Well, that won’t do,” Mitch says, and then he’s on top of Taylor, which Taylor is very on board with. “What can I do to change your mind?” 

“I can think of something, but it doesn’t involve much conversation,” Taylor says, smiling, and he tugs Mitch into a kiss. 

* * *

Mitch is always there, and Taylor’s stopped trying to figure out why.

It feels impulsive, to just let it happen, but Taylor doesn’t really make many impulsive decisions. Mitch is hot, and Mitch makes Taylor feel good, and Mitch wants exactly what Taylor is willing to give, and nothing more, so Taylor stops waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

 

And then, it drops, because this is Mitchell fucking Stephens, and Taylor doesn’t know why he expected anything else

* * *

It’s a bad night.

Like It’s a  _ really _ bad night, because Canada, and silver, so Taylor is drinking with Tony and Jozy, because he actually wants to think about the future, about the show, about a time when losing World Juniors at home doesn’t feel like the end of the world. 

Taylor volunteers to get Gatorade from the vending machine, and Jozy says something in French that Taylor can’t understand, but he sounds very sincere, so Taylor just nods, and makes his way down the hallway. 

And Mat Barzal is kissing Mitch, right there, and Mitch is kissing back. 

Taylor is drunk, and sad, and kind of shocked, so he coughs, and Mat breaks away, then turns to look at Taylor. He doesn’t look guilty, even, and Taylor isn’t surprised; Mat is kind of mean to people who aren’t Chabby, and it’s only tough love, like, 60% of the time. 

Taylor doesn’t look at Mitch, but Mitch also doesn’t look at Taylor. 

“I’m getting Gatorade,” Taylor says. 

“We can move,” Mat says. 

“Barz,” Mitch sighs, “you should go back to your room.” 

“Are you gonna join me?” He sounds really drunk. In different circumstances, Taylor would feel bad for him.

“Just go,” Mitch says. “Like,  _ now, _ or I’m calling Chabby.” 

Mat makes a disgruntled noise at that, then pushes past Taylor, whose eyes are trained on the floor. 

Mitch steps away from the vending machine, but doesn’t leave, just stands there, quietly, as Taylor feeds the machine a dollar.

“Hi,” Mitch says after a minute, his voice soft. 

“Hey,” Taylor says, not looking away from the vending machine, and it comes out angry.

“He was having a bad night,” Mitch says. “I didn’t— it wasn’t—”

“We’re all having bad nights,” Taylor says. 

“I didn’t want you to, like, see it,” Mitch says. “It wasn’t— I wasn’t going to—” 

“You can do whatever you want,” Taylor says. 

“Come by my room later,” Mitch says, a little desperate. 

“Not really in the mood,” Taylor says, which has been true since the moment they hung a silver medal around his neck, and is even truer now. 

Mitch looks hurt, and Taylor doesn’t feel all that bad about it. 

“Not for that,” Mitch says. “I just want to talk.” 

“What’s there to talk about?” Taylor asks.

“I don’t want things to be weird,” Mitch says. “Just— let me explain.”

“Then explain,” Taylor says, shrugging. 

“Here?”

“Sure.”

“I mean— it’s just— listen, I don’t really, like, date, or whatever,” Mitch says. 

“No shit,” Taylor says. “Look, it’s not like I thought we were gonna be boyfriends, or whatever, just— I figured you’d wait until the tournament was over.” 

“The tournament  _ is  _ over,” Mitch says. 

Taylor looks at Mitch, finally. His face is calm and apologetic, and his eyes are as blue and as steady as always, and Taylor didn’t know how he ever thought he could trust him. 

“Guess you’re right,” Taylor says, then turns back to the machine. 

Mitch lingers for a second, and Taylor wonders if he’s gonna say something else, but then he’s gone, and Taylor just bangs a fist against the vending machine in frustration. 

* * *

**Erie, PA, January 2017**

Mitch is traded to London, and Taylor doesn’t even have to try not to care, because Tony is traded to Erie, and Taylor and Dylan are both freaking the fuck out. 

Tony is great. He doesn’t speak much, but everything he says is hilarious, and his hockey is really fucking good. Dylan adds him to the groupchat immediately, then makes sure Taylor sends him a welcome text, as if Taylor hadn’t already been planning on it. 

“This is Tony that we’re talking about,” Taylor says. He’s with Dylan and Alex at their billets’ place, because Dylan told him to come over as soon as he’d heard about the trade. “He’s shy, man, don’t overwhelm him.” 

“I won’t,” Dylan says. “I just want to make him feel welcome.”

“I’m pretty sure he’ll feel welcome,” Brinksy says. “Should Davo worry?”

“Nah, Davo’s my boyfriend, Tony’s just, like, the light of my life,” Dylan says absently. 

 

Tony knows about the Mitch thing, a little. 

Like, most of the O boys know that they were hooking up, even if Dylan is weird about it, but Tony actually asks. 

“What’s the deal with Stephens?” he says, on his first real off day since coming to Erie. Taylor’s pretty flattered that Tony chose to spend it with him, but not all that surprised. 

“I mean, he was— it was a thing.” Taylor doesn’t explain any more, and Tony doesn’t push, because Tony gets it. 

 

Connor and Dylan worked their shit out, and Mikey and Nate are still weird, because they’re weird guys, but they’re weird guys who are soulmates, now, which makes sense, because they’re Mikey and Nate. 

Taylor isn’t jealous. Taylor is happy for them. Dylan deserves a victory, and Davo has been a mess over him for ages, and Mikey and Nate haven’t stopped smiling since the day they met. They’re all so dumb and in love and it’s cute, but Taylor isn’t jealous. 

He doesn’t want a soulmate, and he’s not going to get one, probably, but that doesn’t mean he’s okay with Mitch kissing someone else in front of him.

* * *

 

**OHL Playoffs, 2017**

He doesn’t like playing 7 games against the Knights, but Mitch doesn’t try and talk to him, and they haven’t really had a conversation since January anyway, so it’s really like nothing happened at all. Mitch probably barely even remembers it, honestly, and Taylor doesn’t think about it that much. 

The series drags, but Erie wins, and then they keep winning, and then they’re playing the Steelheads in the championship, and Taylor sends them into overtime with a minute and a half to go, and then fucking— 

Of course, of  _ course  _ Tony gets them the OT winner. 

Sorry, Mikey.

(Taylor’s not actually sorry at all; Mikey won a conference championship, and his best friend is his soulmate, and he’s not the kind of guy to dwell on this kind of stuff. Taylor figures he’ll bounce back.) 

* * *

**Memorial Cup, 2017**

It’s not like Taylor  _ wants  _ to hate Mat Barzal. Like, Mat is a mess, and an asshole, and too obsessed with Thomas Chabot, for some reason. He probably didn’t even realize what he was doing, and was just— being Mat, or whatever. 

But, like, Taylor doesn’t exactly think highly of him, is all, so he’s not thrilled to get a text from him about the Memmer. 

It’s just him, too, not even a message in the group chat directed at him. 

_ see u in windsor,  _ it reads. 

Taylor opens it, and debates turning read receipts on just for this, but he’s not that petty, so he just responds,  _ thx.  _

Mat types something, and Taylor keeps an eye on it, but nothing ever comes through, so he figures that’s that. 

 

Fucking— of  _ course  _ he’s wrong, because Mat Barzal is a cesspit of drama who corners him after their first game in Windsor. 

“We need to talk,” Mat says. 

Dylan looks concerned, and, like, way too invested, and Tony, because he’s Tony, and the best, grabs Taylor’s arm and says, “We were gonna talk strategy, sorry.” 

“We were?” Dylan says. 

Tony gives Dylan a look, and Taylor says, “Yeah, we were. See you, Barz.” 

“Alright,” Mat says, and Tony and Taylor book it out of there. 

 

“So,” Tony says. “Mat and Mitch?”

“They kissed, whatever,” Taylor says. “He’s the one being weird about it.” 

“Maybe you should talk to him about it,” Tony says. 

“Who, Barz?”

“Mitch.” 

“Absolutely not,” Taylor says. 

Tony doesn’t say anything else, just looks at Taylor expectantly. 

Taylor groans. “Stop that.” 

“I’m not doing anything.” 

“You’re judging me.”

“Well, if you don’t talk to Mitch yourself, Barz is gonna get involved, and you don’t wanna have to go through him,” Tony says. 

“It could be something else,” Taylor says. 

Tony fixes him with a look. 

Taylor sighs, relents, and texts Mitch. Nothing special, just,  _ hey,  _ but. It’s a text.

 

Mitch is… pretty much the same. 

It’s not like they haven’t spoken; just, Taylor’s been pissed, and a little distant. 

They don’t, like, talk about things. They just – they text. It’s enough to get Barz off Taylor’s back, at least. 

* * *

 

**Tampa Bay Lightning Development Camp, 2017**

They go out for sushi, but a lot of the guys go out for sushi with them, so it shouldn’t be a big deal. Things are something resembling normal again, Taylor thinks; they don’t talk a lot, just like before, and when they do, Mitch is friendly, and Taylor is standoffish. The last of his playoff blonde is still growing out, but he’s kinda digging the frosted tips look. His hair committed to the bleach. He’s sticking with it. 

The guys are giving him crap for not being able to use chopsticks, when it happens. 

Mitchell’s posting his Insta story, which Taylor thinks is at least a little bit supposed to be making fun of him, but really, the joke’s on Mitch for using a fork. And like, Taylor isn’t really looking at him—because he doesn’t want to, because why  _ would _ he want to—when Jozy says, “Chubbs, what’s on your wrist?” 

The table freezes, and everyone’s eyes immediately turn to Mitchell’s wrist, Taylor’s included, because it’s an instinct. Mitch is covering it soon enough, but Taylor— 

He’s not sure what he saw. 

He’s not sure what anyone else saw, either. 

There are a few sets of eyes on him. He can feel them, and at least one pair belongs to Tony, and the other belongs to Mitch. Which is maybe because he’s across from him, but is also maybe because of the name Taylor is currently trying to convince himself he misread. 

_ Tyler,  _ he thinks.  _ It must have said Tyler.  _

“Uh,” Mitchell says, losing his composure, for once, which Taylor finds immensely pleasing, despite the fact that the he’s been telling himself there’s no bad blood there over and over for months. 

So maybe there’s a little bad blood. Whatever. He’s allowed to hold a grudge, sometimes.

“I’ll head out with you,” Jozy says, because that’s the kind of guy he is. “I’ll be back in a sec—” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Taylor says, feeling eerily calm. “You guys can pay me back later.” 

“Thanks,” Mitch says, and his voice sounds strange, honest in a way that Taylor hasn’t heard in a while. 

Taylor kind of wants to be angry about it, but mostly, he feels… steady. Ready, to maybe go and revisit that stuff. 

As Mitch and Jozy wander off in search of a pharmacy, Tony shoots Taylor a look, and Taylor just shrugs, not quite deflecting, and focuses on his food again. 

There’s a chance that Taylor actually did misread Mitchell’s wrist, but even if he hadn’t, it’s not exactly an uncommon name. He’s met plenty of other Taylors in his lifetime, and Mitchell has too, and really, it’s not like a first glance at a first name on a wrist means anything permanent. It’s more likely that it’s a coincidence than anything else. 

Taylor looks down at his wrist anyway, just to check. 

Still blank. 

But it does get him thinking— he and Mitch might not be soulmates, but they were teammates, and they’re gonna be teammates again, someday. And like, before shit hit the fan, they were  _ friends,  _ and they could probably be friends again someday, too. 

It’s not that Taylor’s ready to forgive him, because he’s not. He’s still kind of sore about it, and even if it’s mostly water under the bridge now, he knows that there’s a little more mending that needs to be done, that the passage of time can only do so much. 

But still. The past isn’t so long ago, all of a sudden, and the future isn’t so far away, and— 

Again. It’s not that Taylor’s ready to forgive him, but if Mitch has some apologies, Taylor’s ready to hear them. 

If he’s being honest with himself, he hopes they’re good ones; he thinks that they could be something good, if they get a fresh start. 

Maybe optimism is naive, but it’s also a little brave, Taylor thinks. 


End file.
